


Untitled #1

by littlemel



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemel/pseuds/littlemel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a while since Frank really believed things were gonna be okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled #1

**Author's Note:**

> Written in about an hour for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/bandomquickie/782.html) at [](http://bandomquickie.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://bandomquickie.livejournal.com/)**bandomquickie**. With apologies if the timeline's a little screwy, but in the spirit of the comm I didn't double check anything. Originally posted January 24, 2009.

It's been a while since Frank really believed things were gonna be okay.

The flight back from Japan was brutal. Half of them weren't speaking to each other, no one was talking to Otter, and Gerard was alternately pissed off, depressed, or puking. Sometimes all three.

Frank spent the whole flight wishing he was somewhere else. Anywhere else but stuck inside a giant metal tube, thirty-five thousand feet in the air, with a bunch of guys he loves like family but sometimes hates like family, too. The scales have been tipping the wrong way lately. But there's only so much hope a guy can hold onto while the world falls apart around him, and Frank's exhausted in ways that have nothing to do with jet lag or touring. This goes so much deeper than that; this is in his bones and his blood, sluggish and thick.

It's been better, since they got back to Jersey. Frank went right to Jamia's from the airport and didn't leave until this morning. Gerard hasn't had a drink in days. Otter cleaned his shit out of the rehearsal space and no one's heard from him since.

Two days ago Frank was ready to put away his guitar and give up. He wasn't even sure he was ready to pick his guitar back up again until an hour ago, when Bob hit the drums, and Ray drew the first note from his guitar, and then Gerard opened his mouth and it all just clicked. Frank barely remembers playing.

Now he's sitting in a lumpy armchair smoking his next-to-last cigarette and watching Bob pack up his kit. There's a feeling in Frank's chest, and lower, in his gut, like he hasn't had for too fucking long. Like the first time Frank played with the band, like this is something good, something really right. He shoves to his feet, ashing all over his Chucks. Bob looks up from zipping his cymbal case.

"So." Frank takes a drag off his cigarette. "Do you wanna be in the band?"

Bob eyes him warily. Gerard and Mikey are gone on a coffee run; Ray's getting something from his car. "You have the authority to make that kind of offer, Iero?"

"What if I did?" Frank's not sure he does, but he's pretty damn sure about this. About Bob. Same difference, right now.

"Then I'd say hell yeah."

Frank grins. "Then I'd say welcome aboard, asshole."


End file.
